Author: Karebare42@aol.com

think outside the box. Especially if you’re the cat. I had a strange request recently. One of my dearest dearests wants me to write her obituary hmmmmm. Sure. A gigs a gig, right? She doesn’t read my blogue so is naive to the fact I write in one huge paragraph with questionable grammar and material. In my birthday card envelope, she sent me notes on different little pieces of paper of things she wants included. There was no card, however, since she thought it would be inappropriate to include it with the obit notes. Never did get the card but it was one very fancy envelope. Unfortunately, I have obit writing experience which is the first thing you want to include on a resume. My dearest dearest is very particular about what she wants in it. Just the facts, ma’am. She hates reading that someone liked to cook or garden blah blah. I, on the other hand, work everyday to pad my final prose. Everything I’ve ever done better be included. Everything. You pay by the line and that one’s going to be a monster. Not ready to write my own yet, but will start gathering bits of handwritten notes when I think of something oh-so-fascinating. Or not. I am dragging on writing my dearest dearests Big O because I’m not sure I can get the tone right. When you write through grief, the deceased is so much more than words on paper. Which is what the gig entails now. My DD wants a copy to read, and for me to keep one for publication. I certainly will do the deed requested, but at the end I’m not sure if the whole thing will get a massive rewrite filled with guilt and hearts and flowers. And recipes! And jokes! Never, ever.

Here in Northeast Ohio, we have once again been betrayed by Mother Nature. She can be a real Ho and kept me awake half the night with her noisy blow job. I’ve already lost two trees this year, and have enough firewood to supply Hades. In one day last week, I flipped through the whole calendar. Left the house in the morning coatless and with real shoes. By noon the umbrella was out and rain was licking up my skirt. By evening the boots and puffy coat were back on, or I just had too much salt at lunch. Darn Bloody’s. I know this is kind of the norm, but she seems more skanky this year. Maybe I’m just becoming get off my lawn cranky pants and don’t fancy ice skating down the driveway anymore. Fortunately, those Prime deliveries just keep on coming. I’m always amazed by the responsiveness of Amazon, and feel the need/want to keep softly touching Add to Cart. Just testing the system of course. Now, however, I have new career aspirations and want to be a Social Media Influencer. This is a thing. And people make lots-oh-money doing it. And if they say it on social media it must be true. I can make videos of me exercising with tons of makeup (and probably in that puffy coat), and doing all kinds of weird stuff that people have to see. I will generate so much click bait that it will be even more lucrative then this blogue (a girl can dream sigh). Speaking of dreaming, my Manfriend (no names please) wants me to blogue about VD and love being in the air while Alexa is playing romantic music. Yes, he is that guy. Yay for me.

Last evening I attended a talk by a local author who also has a lot of cred on the national stage. Oprah knows about him and he’s not even fat. I used to read his thrice weekly column in our rag of a city newspaper when it was actually readable. I only put an F in front of the name now, and wanted to raise my hand and correct said author when he mentioned them. But that’s a gripe for another time. I hope. The Author has written a few really good books so I’ll forgive his past. Speaking of forgiveness, the retired priest who sat next to me at dinner needs some. He never stopped talking about himself!?$! Isn’t one of your job requirements to care about your flock?? My feathers were downright fluffy I so wanted to converse. People talk AT me alllll the time. No conversation. Even some of my Boomlennial bros. No give/take back/forth I’m fine/and you?? Drives me crazy and I don’t need help. But a priest? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Not their first, ahem, transgression #boyswillbeboys. Anyway, back to The Author. He said you don’t really have to have anything to write about. Eureka!! I’m in! I try to rep my Boomlennial brethren in all things brilliant, but sometimes I got nothin. Or I have a junior moment and my oh-so-fascinating diatribe poof. There should have been some interesting dinner conversation but the priest’s aluminum pan on his radiator was only outdone by his talk of his brown teeth. He did tell me my phone was my slave collar which was wrong on so many levels. I really just needed to talk to Suri because she would talk back. Novel idea! Short novel. But it’s coming…. #rightafterIgetbackfromthemoon

is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.” A very astute line in Henry V by William Shakespeare. Of course I’ve googled the word liege and still don’t understand what it means but that’s what you do when winter happens all in one day. Pulling out my eye lashes next. It did get me thinking about a common discussion in my WW group, previously known as Weight Watchers. Nope. Not anymore. Really tricked it up. Seems we always go back to the same theme that women care for everyone else first, and suffer the consequences. I’m not sure if I buy that thinking anymore. A few decades back that might have been more common, but I have to think we’ve all evolved. Otherwise, men and women wouldn’t be able to coexist whether at work or home or wherever. There are fewer Stepford Wives then there used to be #thankyouJesus, and they are laughed at more than admired. Yes. No. Both those words are a complete sentence and need to be used judiciously. And with a roar rather than a whisper. Don’t fight the problem, decide it. And now to wood floors being alive(ish). And silk flowers. (Stay with me here). I used to have some silk flowers in a very sunny window. Much like real ones, they bent toward the sun over a few years. I finally threw them out because they looked odd. And made me shake my head. But….silk is a ‘natural’ product and whether they dried out or collected dust on one side or whatever they moved. (I know I know snowbound and all that). Wood floors. A peep bought an old house and was taking up the carpet to expose the beautiful floors that had been hidden for years. But, yet again a mystery, the pad had grown into the floor. Only very laborious scraping was getting it up. No product helped. Much like silk, at one time it was a moving target and maybe there was no stopping some intangible property that continued to evolve over time. Did I say my TV didn’t work for two days, also? And I had no bread or milk but lots-oh-wine? So join me in a toast to the people in your life. Raise your glass or raise your standards.

Love this time of year when all the new diet and health trends are touted out as being the best and brightest. And I usually fall for most of them until I don’t. Keto lasted two days and that was one day too many. Putting butter in my coffee instead of milk made me want to puke which I guess is one form of weight management. A very disgusting way. I’m no doctor (well yes I am but a really sucky one), but that cannot be good for you. Neeeeext. There are many versions of milk out there but try as I might I cannot find a nipple on that almond or cashew. Where do they hide those glands? Oatmeal milk is all the buzz but even with my glasses, nope, no nipple. Got milk?? How? Coconut I could almost accept because it at least has that ‘look’. Rather hard and implant lookish but ok. Now banana milk is out but even I’m not going there yikes! A new product just coming out from a top brand is a ‘plant-based’ yogurt. Yogurt is made from animal produced milk you morons! At least they see the error of their ways and are working on a different way to market it. Geesh. Call it juice, call it drink, call it Koolaid for gosh sakes but we the people are smart enough to know it’s not milk. (That’s a joke BTW). Another fascinating thing I recently heard was that cardigan sweaters are back in style. Whaaaat??? How did I miss that they were OUT of style? I watch too many lame shows to not know this. The news clip told the viewers to raid their grandmother’s closet for great, old finds. Sorry but no one’s touching my hip, bright, warm cashmere sweaters. They are staying right on the rocking chair where they belong. The news segment also used the word unt when talking about someone’s aunt which should be pronounced ant. Just annoys me when I hear that. Feels so wrong. I’m starting to feel like a Seinfeld episode so time for some Cheerios and banana milk. Gag.

WTF in 2018

Now that I’ve had a chance to tiptoe my way into the new year, I’ve garnered more clarity on the last. Had a deep, so deep discussion with one of my peeps about how as a society we are very judgy. At last someone gets me!! Which of course brings me to athleisure shoes. Why wouldn’t it? I liked the trend. Thought it was cool and relaxing to pad around in gym shoes while in a suit. And since I’ve been on a quest to find comfortable yet stylish shoes I thought this was way too easy. I embraced it. Several pair of shoes later I’ve figured out the flaw in my thinking. They are adorable on young people. They are orthopedic on more mature feet. (Notice I didn’t say OLD fellow Boomlennials). Just doesn’t work. And what is it with square drinking glasses? Had them at a few trendy spots and that is just trying too hard. Mouth placement shouldn’t become work. I was mentally reviewing a riverboat cruise I took and now that they are actively pursuing me for moremoremore I need to explain about going to Mt. Hood(ish). To them. It was an all day excursion. A few hours on a bus, visit the hood a few hours, then back on the bus. What they failed to mention until we parked is that Mt Hood was closed for the season. But no fear! We are stopping at the visitor’s center and gift shop and if you look wayyyyy out there you can pretend to see it. WTF!$#%! Oops forgot to mention that little detail. I know it was an old people cruise but even they (not including me or mine) were looking around waiting for the you’ve been punked cameras. Highlight of the trip. Speaking of funerals (I know I know not great transitions in this post), they are getting weird(er). It seems the body thing is out of style. Which is fine but I kind of don’t know what to do with myself. Stare at an urn? Wander around guessing who the family is? Enjoy the Celebration of Life with no alcohol? So I’m trying to make a personal strategy where I can pay my respect but not feel like I didn’t. When I come up with it you’ll certainly be enlightened with a weird blogue post. And it will become trendy and you can say you heard it here first. I also think we should wear shirts with no pants like Winnie the Pooh. Seems to work for him. I hate Hota Kobe. Just sayin. On to a wild and precious New Year!

That is quite a rough title for the days after Christmas but it always seems to have that feel to it. I don’t want to speak for everyone (so not true), but there really are some cominalities to a funeral. Planning planning planning. Event. Day is done and everyone leaves you to pick up the pieces. Literal pieces. My beast was living large. Chewing everything that fell to the floor. But he didn’t swallow weak sauce. All the wee dearests toys had lots-oh-wee parts that needed chewed up. And spit out. I felt hunched over all day trying to open the jaws of life to recover the sword or bow or poinsettia leaf. Should have rethought that last one. I did make a fabulous meal I must say. I did make a fabulous meal. Took awhile to figure out where the oven was and how it works but I had help. Thank you Google. But….now I’m left with half eaten casseroles that are no longer simmering but look like sticks of butter. Baked goods with bites out of. (Sorry). Half full bottles of wine that are taking up room in the fridge and forcing me to day drink. And the body is barely cold. Now to lighten the mood #daydrinking. I was trying to somewhat balance how much I gave my wee dearests so they wouldn’t feel slighted. I try to keep it simple because Santa has their number big time. But somehow I forgot size matters. Somehow. And so it wasn’t the Amount of gifts, but one dearest got Bigger gifts. I forgot to measure! Not like me. So now I sit with my box of Kleenex looking at my round tree which is what happens when you get one in the pouring rain a week before Christmas with a vast selection of three. On a good note it was only twenty bucks and I won’t feel bad when I throw that carcass out. The worst season of the year is looming and I know it will hit me hard. Diet season blows but it’s part of the recovery process. You just have to suck it up and get through it. Time to build a better boat. Shalom

Last weekend I partook in a very nice ‘do’ that involved touring beautiful homes that were over-the-top decorated for The Holidays. We all know what that is.    n- 1.  a three month suspension of work, study, or other activity,   2.  a time to get fat(ter).  3.   an event that many participate in, generally under duress  4.  something to do with camels and mangers and a swaddling babe.   I digress.  And am going to get struck by lightening.  The home tour was really a feast for the senses.  And since someone I may or may not be related to showcased her abode, I got to participate on a different level.  Emotionally and financially.  Good plan.  That’s what she said.  I’ve always enjoyed peeking behind the scenes into people’s lives.  And  closets.  Figuratively speaking of course.  Of course.  But my main take away from the weekend was just sensory overload.  It wiped me out a bit.  Besides the visual stimulation, I met up with many people I  haven’t seen in awhile, and did some hey what’s happening and why did you let your hair get gray?  I didn’t really say that because my hair has rusted and is now a ferric shade of well water sucks. Many of my million followers were there (it was quite a big ta do) who were just Begging me for more.  Yes Beeeeegging.  No names please.  You know who you are.  Just beeeeegging.  (I am a sad person.)  Ok back on topic.  I am just not used to socializing that much.  And it kind of  wiped me out a bit.  Bet the homeowners are still on the couch staring up at all that limp tinsel.  I did come home that evening and looked around at my decorless house and found it quite fetching.  My mind couldn’t process anymore.  Sensory overload.  Not sure if or when I’ll want to decorate my home, but will continue on with definition #2.  (# is also known as the number sign kids).    #ineedmorespikedeggnog

Say it isn’t so.  After a rather lengthy run of blogishness where I may or may not have talked about other people, I’m thinking it might be time to talk about myself.  Maybe. Possibly.  I do have a not so secret secret that needs sharing, although until I actually saw a news segment about it, I really didn’t understand how twisted it is.  I have a waterbed. The 70’s kind of waterbed that sloshes around, occasionally leaks, and takes a bit of athleticism to get in and out of.  I’ve had it for forty years, which now does sound terribly creepy,  even to me.  The dirty, dark secret, however, is that I still love it.  It cradles me, rocks me, warms me, conforms to my perfect body, and never needs a sleep number.  There are lots-oh-fancy mattresses out there now that promise a good nights sleep and no achy bits.  Which for the price should throw in a hot rock massage and a stud to deliver it.  Nightly.  Hmmmm. Ok.  Back on track. Since I know you all had one at some point, or frolicked on a ‘friends’ (air quotes and an ahem) why did you give up the good life?  I can’t be the only one that still indulges.  And no back pain.  So on this news segment they were actually interviewing a Boomlennial woman and her dearests and wee dearests like it was some weird, novelty item.  I would have felt ok about the feature if the owner had more teeth and didn’t also have my exact frame and dresser.  In my defense, I did change the hardware on the dresser a few years ago,  and got the black burn marks fixed.  When they said ‘fire sale’ it was no joke. There you have it.  I’m sure it will make a comeback, especially once my millions of followers see that not only is it ok,  it’s amazing!  Just needs a lava lamp, some black light posters, and that stud with the hot rocks….

So the Cleveland Browns have an awesome new quarterback (no names please #heartbakermayfield) who had an amazing, almost perfect game this week.  As much as I’m really trying not to get hooked, he’s taking me to task.  He woke up on Sunday ‘feeling dangerous’ sigh melt.  What’s not to love #heartbakermayfield?  When I first heard it, I grimaced a bit because it was so weird, but that was misguided thinking.  Now I want it to make the Urban Dictionary, and be in our marriage vows.  And of course it got me thinking of me, my favorite thing to do, and did I ever have that emotion?  Many of my Boomlennial brethren are entering an odd phase of their lives that I don’t understand.  They are doing this crazy thing they call ‘retirement’ which is just a creepy word anyway.  Lacks joy and doesn’t sound like you’re going to wake up feeling dangerous.  More like you want to go back to bed.  I’ve blogued about this before (check the archives if you want to refresh yourself #brilliantboomlennial), so won’t go there. Much. Maybe because I just got off the old people cruise and their endless, boring stories are still exhausting me, I want to repent. And promise not to become those people.  The new retirees (sounds like a disease) all want to travel.  On a ‘fixed’ income of course which just sounds dumb.  For many reasons, mainly because most people live on a ‘fixed income’ anyway #paycheck.  Now, however, you have more time and less $$$ to do things.  Well thought out plan I’d say.  Back to me/you.  When did I/you wake up feeling dangerous?  Nothing’s coming to mind but I’m not giving up!  Sure not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing but now it is A thing and I won’t let it rest.  If my man #heartbakermayfield is feeling it, I’m a team player.  My dog is looking worried, sure this won’t end well, and he will be the beneficiary of my craziness. Coyote coat??